Long, Winding Hair
by Tendo Rei
Summary: A long time after her death, Mamoru married again. But Usagi won't let him forget her...even if it kills him.
1. Long, Winding Hair

**Long, winding hair**

_Disclaimer: Me no own Sailor Moon. Me want more potato, three not 'nough. _

* * *

The wedding was a glamorous affair; the groom, a young businessman coming up in the world, had spared no expense…of his in-laws. The bride was the vision of loveliness in her sequined western gown, her grandfather and sole living relative standing at attention in more traditional attire. The highlight of the day had to be the young groom, though.

Jet black hair, eyes of ocean blue. Women would talk to him just for the pleasure of having their name on his tongue. His charm more than made up for the fact that he was a fish among sharks. His father had lost a great amount of money in the last crash and killed himself, the burden of his guilt carrying over to and dishonoring his family. Whispers were that he was lucky to have found such a bride.

In truth, her grandfather was an old friend of his father's, who hadn't given up on the driven young man. He not only offered him a chance to start over in his business firm, he offered his only grandchild as well.

The bride was a beauty, mature but with a touch of naivety. She had been at finishing school until just recently, her dating record was slim.

The day was profitable all around.

The white day continued perfectly, not even the odd wisp of cloud daring to cross the sun. Late into the evening, the couple said their goodbyes to the last of the guests and set off in his late-model car. They laughed tiredly as they pulled into their drive, the groom carrying his bride over the threshold like in an old western movie they had seen on their first date. She giggled charmingly and tripped to the next room to remove her veil. He stayed behind, fiddling with his cufflinks.

"Darling, we're all set for tomorrow, I packed everything in your suitcase. Don't worry, I packed your little things, too, but why you'd need hand weights on a cruise ship I'll never know."

He _hmm_-d a response.

"I don't suppose we could stop off to say goodbye to my grandfather? It seems silly to leave for so long without thanking him one more time, don't you think?"

"_Very silly, yes_." He agreed, admiring himself in the hallway mirror.

"I canceled the paper, Motoki said he wouldn't be able to make it out twice a week like he first offered." She stepped through the doorway, veil in her hand.

"I can't find the hat-box, darling, do you remember where this silly girl put it?"

He turned to look at her. She stood framed in the doorway, blue eyes beseeching him, long yellow hair spilling out of its buns.

He opened his mouth and let out a long, piercing scream.

* * *

_Author's note: This is based on a classical story, and a shiny new penny to the sharp lad or lass who can guess which! This is just a teaser, more to come soon._


	2. Blood Road Medicine

Chapter 2: Blood-Road Medicine

_Warning: yucky illness descriptions ahead!_

* * *

He law sprawled on the psychiatrist's couch, palms kneading his eyes. Damnit, Rei made him cancel _their _honeymoon to go to a shrink. Sure, he had fainted when he _thought_ he saw­–

But that was nothing to think about.

He heard the psych sigh and glared at him in annoyance.

"There is no pressure to talk, Mr. Chiba, but the expense is yours. Most patients just talk so as to not waste what time they've paid for."

"Stow it. Besides, I'm not the one who paid. My wife insisted and her grandfather paid."

"Oh, that's right, you're newlyweds. Congrat-"

"I said stow it, doc, I don't need your congratulations."

His psych let out an embarrassed cough. "Mr. Chiba, forgive me for saying so, but you don't talk like a man of your status should."

"Should?" he laughed roughly. "Oh, I do forget myself sometimes, don't I? See, I was born of this world, but it's not where I grew up. I grew up dirt poor, and most of it without any help." He stopped.

The psych looked hopeful. "Go on."

Mamoru sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, after my dad…you know, my mom tried really hard to keep things going for me, she did. But I guess she was just too sad. I found her a year after the day, in the kitchen. The gas was on."

"Ah." The psych scribbled a few quick notes.

"Then why do you think you screa-"

"That's none of your business, _okay_?"

Time ticked by. The silence was so thick you could've stabbed it with a knife.

"Say, doc. If, hypothetically, I tell you something I don't want to get out, you'd keep it in the strictest confidence, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

The young man exhaled deeply.

"Provided it in no way affects your wife or-"

"Shut up! If I tell you something–and I know you want me to–you can't tell a living soul, got that? Otherwise, we keep up our little quiet game, get it?"

The pysch sighed and took off his glasses. "I suppose I have to say yes, don't I?"

* * *

The women sat in the backyard, neither of them speaking. Rei, the happy glow of marriage still slightly evident in her face, looked drawn and tense. Her friend Makoto, off from her job as a chef, was there for some well-needed coffee and cigarettes.

Rei took a puff, smoke drifting across the lawn and stinging Mako's nostrils.

"Rei-chan, I thought you gave those up."

"This is an emergency, Mako-chan. Besides, it's just this one." She took another drag, feeling much calmer this time, and exhaled the smoke from her nose.

"He won't tell me the trouble, Mako-chan. I begged and pleaded with him, but nothing. He always tells me everything, and I was so frightened when he just _keeled_ _over_…" She trailed off and put her face in her hands.

The tall brunette swept her friend into a hug. "Hey, hey now, it's all gonna be okay. All newlyweds have some trouble–"

"But never like this!" Rei wailed into her shirt, "It's like I don't know him as well as I thought I did! I tried to wake him up for ten minutes, it seemed like an hour! And when I finally did it, he tried to play it off like it was all some joke. I wanted to scream!"

"Shh, _shh_, it's okay. You said you sent him to a therapist, that's good. I think you could both benefit from couple's counseling, too."

Rei let out a shuddery breath. "Thanks, Mako-chan. I don't know why I let myself get so worried. You always have such a cool head on you."

Mako giggled as she sat down. "It comes from working in the kitchen. If you can't stand the heat…"

* * *

Mamoru stared up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to gather his words together. If he didn't say it the way he rehearsed this morning, it could make him sound like some kind of a monster.

"Y'see, doc, I've been married before."

* * *

He came home and slipped his shoes off at the entrance, nose wrinkling at the smell. Disinfectant, baby smells and Usako's humidifier. He stood in the hallway looking into the mirror, preparing himself for the upcoming ordeal. He fixed a cheerful smile on his face and went to the living room. It wasn't easy.

Dirty clothes, old boxes of food, the bassinette, a lot of things were strewn around the tatami mat where his wife lay, a small bundle in her arms. She was asleep, he could tell by the soft rise and fall of her nearly concave chest.

The baby had been hard on her, he knew, but then she had never recovered. She lay sprawled on the mat like a pile of wet laundry, a small crust forming at the corner of her mouth. Her nails, which she had so loved to polish in pinks and blues, were yellow now, and brittle. Her hand resembled a bird's claws, the skin on them was so rough and hardly a bit of meat remained. Her arms and legs, which he tried not to look at, were strange mushy things, skin grown in healthier times hanging off in folds. Her long, yellow hair, that which had been her crowning glory, had begun to come out in clumps, that which remained was coarse and lusterless. Her eyelids now resembled large bruises, one eye had begun to droop at the corners. Her entire face, which had been pink and full with baby-fat when they married, was now wasted, cheeks sunken in and outlining missing teeth.

He reached out to brush her cheek and the sparsely haired pink infant in her arms stirred. It had been a healthy birth, but she seemed to thin out in the months of her mother's illness. He could only afford very cheap formula and Usako could no longer breastfeed her own child with her wasted body.

The infant stirred again, and this time Usako opened her eyes.

It was amazing. No matter what condition her body was in, her eyes were always like chips of sapphire in her face, alert and sparkling. She gave a sad excuse for a smile and tried to greet him, coughing a few false starts before managing. Even her voice was deteriorating, her cheerful birdlike trill now sounded like wind over sandpaper.

"I…tried to fe…feed little Usa today…but…the strength in my arms…just…gave out…" she swallowed laboriously.. It cost her energy to talk, energy she couldn't really spare, but that was Usako. When the odds were against her, she just tried harder. He noticed the bottle on the floor, a now-dry puddle of formula around it

"I brought home some takeout, and some more formula mix. Also, the doctor gave me some more medicine to give to you."

Usako tried to smile again, lips cracking painfully. The medicine hadn't really helped all these long months, but she remained a staunch believer it would, some day, and she'd be back to her old, bubbly self.

He smiled permissively and took the infant from his wife's arms. The babe barely stirred, it slept so deeply compared to other infants its age. Perhaps her mother's illness was catching…

* * *

"…she died, doc. After a long sickness. There was nothing I could do, mother and baby, what a horrible thing. And then I get home that one day and I find them…there was nothing I could've done."

"That is a sad, tragic thing Mr. Chiba, and I think you have some severe guilt issues stemming from your first wife's death. You might have suffered a relapse when greeting your new wife for the first time since your marriage, but perhaps time will convince you it's not going to end the same way."

"Hmm." He stared up at the ceiling for another moment, then seemed to recover.

"We done here, doc? 'Cause I've got things–"

"We have fifteen more minutes, Mr. Chiba."

"Fine then." He stood up and cricked his neck. "We'll call it an hour. That's what you want anyway, isn't it? A little more money for your time?"

The therapist sighed. "Mr. Chiba, what I want is for you to be well; I had assumed our two goals were similar."

"Yeah yeah yeah." He flapped his hand. "See you later."

He paused at the door. "Hey doc?"

"Yes?"

"Get a haircut."

He slammed the door behind him, upsetting a rare Tomoe painting beside the frame. Dr. Kou shook his head and got up to adjust it.

* * *

At the car, Rei finally hugged Mako goodbye.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with me for a bit? We could have girl's nights again, I'd call Minako and we could pig out on popcorn."

Rei gave her friend a tender smile.

"Thank you for the offer, Mako, but I think things are getting better already."

* * *

_Author's note: Man, this got dark, and fast. A few more hints to what this story is based on, and I think I'm making it waaay too easy for you. More cameos in the next chapter!_


	3. Oilpaper Umbrellas

Chapter 3: Oilpaper Umbrellas

* * *

_Mamoru walked upstairs quietly as he could, wincing at every minute squeak his shoes made. He had worked another long day, and then spent hours at his favorite bar. Even he admitted he was avoiding Rei, leaving his new wife alone in their house every single day. But what could he do? He couldn't risk…that…happening ever again. He left before she woke and came back only when she was in bed. It was best this way._

_He had stopped going to the therapist; it didn't help anyway. He knew he wasn't crazy. That had been Usako on his wedding night. He was sure of it. And other things too; a steady drip in the night even though all faucets were tightly off, the sickening stench of her sickbed when he opened the closet door._

_He wasn't crazy, he was haunted._

_And there was no one around him who would understand that. He had no really close friends; anyone he told was also part of his wife's social circle and news would get back to her somehow. He just had to be…very careful._

_He stripped off his tie and fell into bed without undressing. These long days were taking a toll on him, too. He had stopped shaving two days ago and his hair was greasily slicked back. He just couldn't bring himself to step into the shower cubicle and sit under all that water, exposed. No pools, no dishes, he would stay far away from wells._

_Rei sighed in her sleep and rolled over slightly. A pang of regret struck his heart. If only he hadn't involved her in this, she was so innocent…_

_But she was, after all, the motive…_

* * *

Another day, another box of takeout. This was a special day, Usako's doctor had recommended a different medicine, one perhaps more likely to help than harm. It was carefully wrapped in his handkerchief, plastic seal still in place. 

"Darling, I'm home!" He called.

She half-lay by the window, propped up by the laundry he still hadn't gotten around to doing. A new father with a full-time job didn't always have time for domestic chores. But she forgave him. She always did.

She was so happy to see him, face cracking into a smile. She always acted as if he had been away for so long, starvingly clutching him to her even when they first dated. He smiled and set the takeout down, presenting the medicine with a little flourish. She giggled dryly, throat rasping. He went to the kitchen to get a spoon. As he shuffled through the drawers, there was a knock on the door.

* * *

The young woman sat upright in her chair, as if posture was an ongoing contest and she had her eyes on that gold metal. She held her glasses in one hand and tapped them idly on her desktop, eyes on the ceiling. She was absorbed in thought, trying to remember how it had sounded in her head so long ago…

* * *

Ami Mizuno, M.D., was a longtime friend of Usako's. They had known each other since kindergarten and continued to be friends even with their drastically different career choices. Ami was also her doctor. 

She stepped carefully around a pile of clothes, nose wrinkling slightly. He didn't mind. It took some time to get used to the smell; after that you didn't notice it at all. She extended her hand to Mamoru, and warmly hugged Usako. She tickled little Usa's feet, cooing in an Auntly manner. Mamoru waited patiently until she finished with the formalities, and then smiled politely when she asked to see Usako's medicine.

* * *

"…they seemed happy enough, I'm sure, and there was no apparent reason for him to do it. Hey, there was more cause for him to stage it as an accident, prevent further damage to his reputation, but he didn't. He insisted it wasn't an accident, berated himself for not paying attention to her emotional state. It is very easy to believe that she could not stand what was happening to her and her child any longer, that she could not suffer anymore. The Usako I know would not want to put such a heavy burden on anyone she loved, no matter how painful the alternative was."

* * *

Ami Mizuno had calculated down to the gram how much medicine would be gone from the bottle had Usagi taken her medicine regularly and in full. She was barely off. 

She sniffed around the lid and inside the bottle, taking a small sample on a cotton swatch to analyze in the lab. Mamoru sat in the living room through it all, unconcerned, playing with his small daughter. It was only when Ami stepped back in the living room, smiling tightly, announcing she had to go but would be back soon, that he looked up. His face was completely guileless, and he wished her a good night sincerely.

God, she hoped that was a good sign. She hoped the medicine tested negative. She didn't want Mamoru to be the one responsible, she only wanted a straw man to blame and hide the fact that she felt helpless to do anything about her dying friend. She needed justification, that was all. He couldn't be the one. If Mamoru was responsible…

* * *

Ami leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. 

"However, if that is the case, one thing puzzles me. How does a young woman, weakened by illness, lift such a heavy cover off a well? By herself?"

She sighed and rested her head in her hand.

"Anyway, it's no use speculating at this point; the case is over and done with and little evidence remains. No one could prove he was anywhere near the house at the time, he claimed to be out buying dinner. I'd like to believe that."

She didn't want to meet the man who could smile so innocently as he killed his wife.

Ami glanced up at her visitor, tsking at his unkempt beard and matted hair.

"And in any case, what could you do about it at this late stage? Kill him?"

He shifted in his seat and scratched his beard.

* * *

Mamoru shut the door gently after Ami left; Usa had fallen asleep in her mother's arms. Usako smiled down at her little daughter, a rare moment of peace when the pain didn't matter so much anymore. He tiptoed to the kitchen. 

Once inside, he peeled off the shrink wrap and gingerly uncapped it. An acrid, sour smell reached his nostrils and they wrinkled. He had always hated how medicine was, from since he was a little boy. He hated how something so good for you had to taste so bad, and things that were bad for you had to be so tempting.

_Mamoru shifted in his sleep, arm reaching out to encircle Rei._

He took the measuring spoons from the drawer and carefully poured the right amount, then threw it into the sink with a practiced flip of his wrist. He put the bottle away and took out Usako's real medicine, a plain brown bottle he had gotten in Chinatown. The stuff she had been taking all this time but had yet to do its job. Usagi withered away while he felt the clock tick. He wished it were quicker, he hated seeing Usagi suffer; but if it was too quick it would throw suspicion on him. He measured out medicine again and stashed the bottle quickly, walking out to Usako with a tray balanced on one hand and the spoon in the other. She put on a brave little smile, like she always did, and swallowed the medicine without shuddering. She did make a face though.

"So strange. It tastes just like the old medicine."

_Was it him, or was Rei damp?_

He set the tray in her lap.

"They make all medicine out of the same materials that they used when I was a boy. Boot polish and old fish."

She laughed weakly and he smiled indulgently, putting his arm around her.

* * *

_Author's note: C'mon, you had to've guessed by now. If not, I'll reveal in the last chapter. See you then!_


	4. Nailed to a Door

Chapter 4: Nailed to a Door

* * *

Mamoru's breathing had stopped. His wife's went on, in a labored, raspy wheeze. He felt the beginning prickles of hysteria in his stomach. It was only a little after ten. Did Rei really go to bed that early? And there were dirty clothes strewn about their room; some his, some hers. Had she been cleaning? A sharp, ugly smell hit his nose and he fought off another wave of panic. It was just cleaning fluid, she was just scrubbing the windows or whatever bored wives do. It smelled of bleach and disinfectant, not medicine and antiseptic!

Damnit, _he would not lose control_!

Very, very slowly, he lifted his arm back from Rei. A slight hitch in her breathing was the only reaction. As quietly as he could, he rolled off the mat and onto all fours, wincing as overworked joints popped. He had to get up and walk calmly yet quickly out the door, get to the phone, and call Motoki. He had helped the last time a mess like this came around. He was the steady tree trunk Mamoru needed right now, he worked quickly and without questions. Mamoru knew he was the only one who would've helped him that hot June night when Usagi turned up-

His wife rolled over in bed and he lost all resolve. Her blonde hair streamed out from her scalp; unbound, it was longer than she and faintly luminous. The slack mouth sucked in breath and her one disfigured eye glared at him, accusing him, pinning him to the spot with horror.

Mamoru didn't think. He picked up an antique sword that had belonged to an ancestor of Rei's and swung it, barley bothering to unsheathe it. The first strike did little damage; it grazed the side of her neck and sent arterial blood hissing out onto their marriage quilt. She clapped a hand to it and made to speak. This time, _this_ time, he got lucky. One clean blow and her head rolled away into the shadows, saving him from that ghastly eye.

He stood there for a moment, gasping for breath, wiping away tears of exertion and terror. There was blood all over the bedroom. It had even sank into the elegant brocade kimono Rei had worn to their wedding reception. She would be angry about that, he noted. He wondered how to explain the blood... hell, he would have a hard enough time explaining all the blonde hairs… His gaze traveled lazily to the corner where the head rested.

The head's hair was black. Not blonde. He was suddenly very still.

The head was all the way across the room. He did and didn't want to see what had happened to it. Finally, fear compelling him more than anything, he walked to the head and knelt down beside it. He didn't want to touch it; he wanted to run, get out of the house, go somewhere where there was no severed head. But he picked it up. And he turned it around. The head whose face was frozen in one last expression of shock and horror was not Usagi's.

* * *

_Mamoru kicked the door open today, and flung the box of takeout onto the futon where his wife usually lay. He didn't get the promotion. __**Again**__. And his wife of three years __**still**__ had the stupid futon out. He shook his head. It was so easy to blame Usako, _too_ easy, but he had no one else to. As grateful as he was for her father getting him a job when most people wouldn't hire such a wild and dangerous youth, he had begun to resent Usagi, to hate her. She, like much of her family, was content to stay in the low-income sector, to raise children on barely enough and sleep in a 4½ tatami mat apartment. She had no aspirations, but he did. And it was frustrating, that she could be so easygoing about something so __**important**__…_

_He put his ear to the bathroom door. Since her last doctor's visit, she had been throwing up a lot, and he was loathe to put it down to just morning sickness. Perhaps she really was sick, and would die in childbirth. He brightened up for a minute, and then was appalled at himself. There was no way he could wish death on someone as sweet as Usako, even though she didn't really get his ambition. She only wished him well, clinging to him, __**smothering**__ him with misplaced affection… He rested his forehead on the door. _

_That was odd. It came out of nowhere. Or did it?_

_He stood stock still, feeling his heart beat. Did he really…he couldn't. Murder was wrong, no matter what the reason. And yet…_

_He heard the toilet flush and hurried away, rattling dishes in the kitchen sink lest she suspect something. She exited the bathroom wiping her mouth, one arm bracing the doorway for support. Her hair was unbound, nearly cloaking her. One single eye like a drop of ocean water was all that peeked out. She walked past him without speaking and flopped on the couch. The knot of irritation in his stomach clenched tighter. He tried to ignore it._

* * *

Mamoru managed to make it downstairs and out the door, even on his violently shaking legs. He made it to his car, where he was violently sick. He sat in the front seat afterwards, perspiration dripping steadily off his face. He didn't bother to reach up and wipe it away. He couldn't move. He had to _think_.

He had to tell someone. Yeah, that was it. But who? Motoki, for all his kindness, was never going to believe he had accidentally killed his wife…_twice_.

Rei's grandfather.

He sat straight up. If he could explain the situation to him, make him understand… He wouldn't believe about the ghost, but he might cop an insanity plea yet; spend his days in a safe white room with no faucets or wells or cisterns anywhere near. Her grandfather had known his father, knew the problems that ran in his family. Hell, he probably _counted_ on it; had a nice, tidy sum of insurance money waiting for him should his sole heir's husband turn out to be a homicidal wacko. What kind of a man gives his granddaughter away to a man like _him_ anyway?

He carefully backed the car out of the drive and set off for the Hino mansion. He worked on his story in the car, hands shaking so he could hardly steer.

A burglar had…no, that was _so_ overdone. A bout of dementia had struck him, he had seen…

_Usako laughing, her shoulders shaking from the effort, tears of mirth dotting her beautiful eyes…_

Oh, please.

_Her sighing as she cuddled up to him, one pair of pajamas shared between them, a look of benevolent peace on her face…_

Oh please **no**.

_The first time he saw her. It was raining, drops suspended in her hair like tiny stars; her astonishment at this stranger who would share an umbrella with a clumsy, stupid girl like her…_

He managed to reach the shoulder and get his door open before he heaved again.

* * *

Hino's perky blonde physical therapist opened the door to his ragged knocks, the welcome on her face melting into shock and then horrified pity. He shushed her with one hand and asked to see her employer, grateful when she left. Miss Aino was almost a doppelganger of Usagi, despite their different hairstyles. He had never been comfortable around the bubbly blonde secretary, though she always tried to make him feel at home.

He sat in the small decorative garden Hino used for receiving guest and tried to compose himself. He scrubbed his face with a clean handkerchief and tried to look presentable, but shaken. He had to make sure Hino didn't think the murder was premeditated, that this had all been some horrible, horrible mistake.

He heard the patter of footsteps behind him and rose to greet his host. He turned, hand out and ready for a shake. Usako stood before him, hand likewise extended.

He wished that Miss Aino would stop her shrill screaming, then realized it was coming from him

* * *

_Author's note: A cliffhanger? That bites. For those still guessing, the chapter titles are a further clue to the story this was based on. One more chapter to go!_


	5. Oiwa

Chapter 5: Oiwa

* * *

Usako stood before him, hair flowing all about her head like a veil, her one limp eye exposed and staring endlessly at him.

It was a moment or two before he regained mobility in his legs, and another moment before his heart stopped clenching in his chest. He would act swiftly this time, and without panic. He brought his hands up to shoulder height and ran at Usako. She nimbly stepped aside but Mamoru managed to turn quickly and shove her with all his force down the southern steps. He stood there panting, listening to the cracking noises as Usako hit the steps at all angles, smiling grimly. She came to rest at the foot of the steps, some 45 feet from where she started. He waited a few more long moments before carefully going down to see her.

He ascended the last few steps gingerly; the last thing he wanted was to be sprung upon by his wife's almost-corpse. The crumpled bundle at the foot of the steps was still. He smiled tightly and turned it over with his foot. His former grandfather-in-law's face turned to stare blindly at him.

No.

His rubbed his eyes furiously, wake up, wake _up!_

Mr. Hino's head lay at a an angle unnatural to his body.

NO!

He rubbed his eyes so hard little lights sparked and popped, and it took a minute for his vision to clear when he opened his eyes.

Rei's last living relative lay crookedly, his chest still.

Mamoru almost screamed again but managed to clamp a hand to his mouth, stifling it to a whimper. Perhaps Minako was at the other end of the spacious house, making health shakes or something. Perhaps she hadn't heard. Oh god, how could she not _hear?_

Mamoru was surprised to find tears dotting his eyes, and slapped himself, hard. He could _not_ lose it now! He needed to hide the evidence, at least give himself a head start, but he could not bring himself to move the old man's broken body. He crumpled up at the foot of the steps, shaking. He wouldn't be able to get away with it this time. This time there were _two_ obvious murders, and no Motoki to help him, to believe his story that it was all an accident. It was an accident, really it was! He would never kill these two on _purpose_!

He rocked slowly back and forth, too horrified to even move. Usako hated him, he knew, and had returned to prevent him from ever finding happiness. She had managed to make him kill the only two people in the world he had cared about since her death. The old man, who had become like a father to him, and the girl who had returned his love and innocently signed her death warrant. His first wife's vengeance knew no bounds.

He stopped rocking and put his forehead in his palm. Now that she had thoroughly made those he loved pay for his misdeeds, who would she turn to next? Miss Aino? Motoki?

His mouth was suddenly dry. No, she wouldn't punish them. They had been unwitting partners in his schemes. Motoki, tricked by his best friend into becoming an accessory to murder. Miss Aino, who also held a secretarial position at Hino's firm, charmed into losing the paperwork detailing his first marriage. They were both innocent. The blood was on his hands, all of it.

He flinched as he heard the sliding-glass door flung open. The sharp noise cleared his senses. What was he doing here, wallowing in pity, just sitting here like an idiot waiting to be discovered? The old man was light, he found as he tucked him carefully under some topiary bushes, lighter than he'd expected. Of course, Usako had been lighter from all her months of illness when he…

He slapped himself again. There was no sense dwelling on _that_. He had to get out of here, and quick. Miss Aino was a dip, but she wasn't blind. She would find the body sooner or later, and call the cops. It would be best if he was far away from here as possible. He heard Minako's heels clicking on the walk and ducked behind some bushes. She called once, twice, three times, and left with a whirlwind of clicks. He made sure she was out of sight before he stole to his car, trying to start it as quietly as possible. He cursed as the engine turned over. How long had it been since he had it in for maintenance? So many loose ends he had left, no time to tidy them all. The engine sputtered to life and he backed carefully out of the drive.

He had to go somewhere now, he couldn't think in this place. So many memories, of Rei, of Usako. He had to keep his wits. Almost unwillingly, his thoughts turned to the cabin.

* * *

A western wedding would've been cheaper, but Usako insisted on a traditional ceremony, using her deceased mother's wedding kimono. To him it had been more like a funeral, none of the participants really smiled, no one talked. The only one who seemed as unhappy with the wedding as he was, though, was Usako's kid brother. She had been nine when he was born, and had become like a mother to him when their mother died. He had refused her pleas to let him live with them, and the boy sulked through the ceremony.

Mr. Tsukino hadn't had much, but he shared half of everything with his only daughter's new husband. At the end, there had been no cruise to the tropics, no business associates waving them on their merry way. There was only Usako's father tucking a small amount of bills into his suit pocket; small but still more than he could really spare. There was only Usako and him piling into his beat-up old jalopy and heading for the cabin that had been inherited from Usagi's distant ancestors; one that had no modern conveniences like heat or indoor plumbing, but it was all there was. That was their honeymoon, crouching in an insect-riddled hovel, shivering until dawn. It gave him the creeps, but she would've been happy regardless of where she was, just so long as he was there. That thought brought on another twinge, but it was gone just as quickly and he turned off the main road onto the bumpy gravel road.

* * *

_She_ _lay like a shriveled up gourd on her futon, breath catching stickily in her chest. He stood over her, very still. The infant at her breast was dead; she had probably given up on the formula too far away to reach, that he had set on the kitchen counter as far away from her as it could get. Perhaps the poison swilling in her mother's body had done it finally, perhaps it was just failure to thrive. Either way, he could not envision waking Usako and telling her that their only daughter was dead, and that they would never have another. He thought for a moment, and left to get some rope._

_Usako didn't stir as he bound her wrists to each other, her arms to her child, she just kept on breathing those sick, shallow breaths. She didn't wake as he picked up her limp form in his arms and started for the door. She only shifted slightly as he juggled her to get the doorknob. Her breath only fluttered as he carried her into the crisp night. But on the way to the backyard, the chill night air on her face when she had only been exposed to warm for the longest time, Usako had woken up._

_ It took her a minute to absorb her surroundings, and by that time they were almost to the well. She struggled then, with strength Mamoru thought was long dead. She had really only hated him in those last few moments, though how much she figured out he couldn't fathom. She clawed him with her bitten stubs of fingernail, utter loathing and hatred etched on her face. When he raised her above his head she clung stubbornly to his shirt, still refusing to relinquish her hold on life, squawking what she would've screamed in healthier months. If she hadn't hit her head on the lip of the well as he dropped her, he might not've been able to let her go. But she fell, limply, making a splash so big it nearly reached the well mouth. _

_He stood until he heard the sound of his wife's body hitting the water. Then, he cried. Crumpled up like a baby with his face in his hands, great sobs wracking his body. He cried for many things. He cried at Usako, for burdening him with her illness and her_ _insatiable love of him. He cried for himself, ashamed at having chosen such a long, wasting form of death for his wife, inflicting pain on her like he had no other human being. He cried for her father, who hadn't lived to see his only grandchild; for her brother, who would never see his beloved sister again; and for the colleague of his father's, who had seen fit to give him another chance in life, not knowing what he was capable of. Finally he cried for his parents, who had left him alone in the world with their selfishness. He cried all the tears he hadn't shed since childhood. Then he dried them resolutely and stood up._

_He calmed himself, but not too much, and went to call Motoki. He had to sound just short of hysteric, like a husband whose wife had just killed herself. In a way she had, hadn't she? She had married a man who would do anything, **anything** to get where he wanted to be…_

_

* * *

_

He woke with a start, full of aches and cold. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in his car, though luckily he had parked it beforehand. He fumbled for the seatbelt and opened the door, groaning and popping various joints. The cabin lay before him, like a face drawn and dark in sleep. He didn't dare go in, perhaps he should've brought a tent. That was the worst thing about these moments, one never prepared for them. He thought of using the car's heater, but the battery was dead when he attempted to turn the car back on. Well then. It was shiver until dawn. Then he could maybe walk to the small inn that was a mile or two away, have some breakfast. There was still plenty of cash in his wallet, he could get reasonably far away without using his bank card and drawing attention to himself. He felt better. He could survive this.

He got up and walked around, no point in sleeping tonight. He would just keep moving, kept his blood circulating, stay warm. He decided to walk down to the lake.

In the summer months he and Usako had sat by the lake, dipping their toes, so happy. Now he stumbled over rocks and stumps he couldn't see in the dark, afraid at any moment he would fall into the lake. It had been a mistake to walk here, but he couldn't give up now. He had no idea where he had come from; the night was dark and there was no moon. He finally stopped just short of the water, hearing the hiss of the waves he would go no further. He ignored his own advice and curled up there on the shore, feeling very cold and sorry for himself. Now he had to wait hours for the sun to rise, or risk falling off a cliff.

He sat there for a long time, aches in his body and aches in his heart. He felt like a child again, coming home from school and finding his mother crying about his father, or finding his mother lying in the kitchen. It seemed to him at the time that it had been his fault that they both died, a notion he had learned was false in his adult years. Their suicides had been no more his fault than the others. Usako had been an adult, had made her own decisions about having a baby despite the dangers it posed to her health. He had just hurried her along the path. Rei and her grandfather hadn't been his fault, she had tricked him. She still clung to him selfishly, thwarting his attempts for happiness. He clenched his fists. If she was here now, he would drown her again for trying to rule his life!

He shivered and sat up. The night was moonless and pitch black; but either he was going insane or the lake was emitting a soft glow…

He jerked up. The faint luminance was drifting slowly across the lake to him! He tried to scramble up the bank but every rock and root came away in his hands, he could find no purchase. He pressed his back to the dirt, wanting as far away from the light as he could get. The light drifted slowly to a stop just a few feet from shore and despite himself, he got up to look. There, floating just below the surface, was Usako. Her eyes were closed, and she emitting a golden radiance that hurt his eyes. Her eyes matched, her hair lustrous and long. She was healthy, and so beautiful his heart ached. He could've stood there, watching her, until morning. But then one of her hands broke the surface of the water, beckoning, and it was all he could do to keep from screaming.

He ran back to the steep bank, which remained strangely dark as if her light touched only him. He curled into himself, sobbing, wanting her to go away, go away, leave him in peace! He clamped his eyes shut, resolutely stoppering his ears with his fingers when he heard her voice. She had left the lake, he could tell, and stood behind him. He could feel her. But he would not turn around, would not look. He made a small ball of himself, trying to shut everything else out and failing miserably. They stayed that way until morning.

All of the sudden light hit his eyes, and he blinked heavily. He lay stretched out on the shore, hand clenched as if holding something. He didn't remember sleeping, or uncurling from his fetal position. He tried to unclench his hand, finally having to pry open the fingers with the other hand. There was nothing in it, but his palm was wet. He scrambled back up the bank, which oddly didn't seem as steep as the night before. It was still tough going; his body was stiff and his hand didn't want to obey him. It flopped, dead on his wrist, devoid of all feeling. He managed to ascend after some effort, and started back toward the cabin. He was no longer alone.

Another, more beat-up car parked beside his, and a unkempt man with brown hair sat on a boulder in front of the cabin. His back was to Mamoru. Mamoru drew in a shuddering breath and looked for the nearest weapon he could find. An old iron fire poker, rusted from years in the rain, rested against the rough side of the cabin. Carefully watching the man's back for any sign that he heard him, Mamoru reached for the poker without thinking. His numb hand flailed at the handle, clumsily grasping it before dropping it with a loud clang. In a heartbeat the man jumped up and was facing Mamoru, who was afraid that he saw Usako again.

But wait…

The stranger had her blue eyes, her chin, but the nose was rougher, the eyebrows thicker. He _looked_ like Usako…but he wasn't.

"Shingo." He breathed.

In the years since his sister's death and the remarriage of her murderer, Shingo had grown from the unkempt little boy who dogged his and Usako's heels. Now he was a full-fledged, if underfed, adult. He stared coldly at Mamoru, bringing the pistol he carried up to aim at his forehead.

"Mamoru."

He would've babbled then, excuses, pleas for forgiveness, mad entreaties, but the gun took away any negotiation he might've used. There was going to be no reasoning with Shingo, who had to be carried kicking and screaming from his sister's funeral, hoarsely accusing Mamoru of homicide. There could be no bargaining, Mamoru realized. He tried anyway.

"Shingo…" He began pleadingly. A thumb pulled the hammer back.

"There isn't anyone here who doesn't know you, Mamoru, and what you really are. There's no one left to believe your lies. Just you. And this." He said, gesturing with the gun. Mamoru's hands clenched and unclenched, the old pins-and-needles feeling flooding the dead hand.

"You have to understand-"

"No." Shingo said unemotionally. "I don't. You killed my sister. She trusted you and you killed her. And then you lied about it. You got away. You got to live."

"_And do you think killing me is going to bring her back_?" Hysteria made his voice rise in pitch, until it was nearly a shriek.

"No. Nothing is going to bring my sister back. But I can't just let you go. I can't walk under the same sky as my sister's murderer. Just the thought that you exist is too much for me."

"So this is revenge." The small hope that someone, anyone would drive up the secluded way was dwindling.

"No. This is an end to the whole thing." Shingo's finger tightened on the trigger. Later, his resolve keeping him cool and decisive would burst, and he would phone Ami sobbing what he had done. But for now, there was only this thing to do, and he would do it.

Mamoru couldn't look at him anymore, his eyes so like Usagi's. He looked out to the lake instead, where he spent a few really happy moments of his life. And in the dazzle of light on the water, he saw her. Glorious and shining, she held their child in her arms, her face serene. She stretched one long, graceful limb out to him, hand beckoning. She forgave him in those last few moments, she looked at him with understanding and love, and he went to her.

* * *

_Author's note: The story, in case you didn't see the final clue, is Oiwa. A nasty little fairy tale set in feudal Japan, it's about a lowly samurai who murders his wife in order to marry the granddaughter of a colleague. The phrase "walk under the sky…" is also from that era, it is said that a samurai cannot walk under the same sky as his lord's murderer. As to whether or not he was really being haunted or was actually going insane…I'll leave that up to you. Now, I'm not one of those people who thinks Mamoru is a monster, don't get me wrong, it's just that this was the best setting for the story. Where else do you have such a great opportunity for a **murderous** triangle? In the beginning I planned to set it in feudal Japan, but then realized that it was ripe for a more modern setting. I didn't mean for it to turn out this dark, really, but time makes fools of us all, I guess. Thanks to all those who reviewed, hope I lived up to your expectations of the end!_


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